


I'll Meet You Where the Spirit Meets the Bones

by Liondaemon



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Christmas, Cold Weather, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Magical Symbolism, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liondaemon/pseuds/Liondaemon
Summary: John Segundus staves off loneliness by delving into his books and mulling over how best he can improve Starecross Hall for its students. He is spending an ordinary night sifting through academic papers and pushing down his own melancholy when company arrives in the surprise visitor of John Childermass.The two magicians attempt to uncover a new realm of magic, but there is something else they've been ignoring and it doesn't seem like the magic is willing to let that stay hidden for long . . .
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

John Segundus didn’t like his name. He didn’t have enough fingers to count the number of acquaintances he had also named John, let alone the number of strangers to whom he had been introduced. He could not imagine what possessed mothers who watch their new-born sons coo at them gently with their unique, pudgy face, only to name it the most average of all male names. But it was not mothers and their strange post-partem proclivities that caused John Segundus ire. No, it was the fact that the subject of his most safely guarded daydreams shared his name (it is difficult to imagine dancing to a melody you wrote yourself without some feelings of self-consciousness).

It had been a fairly uneventful term at Starecross Hall. Of course, there had been mishaps; what did you expect when you brought together a group of young people to educate them in the ways of magic? There had been an unfortunate incident when Barnaby had caused ivy to grow up and over the entirety of Starecross, so that the whole stone house had been covered in ivy faster than the majority of the students could escape. That had taken some undoing. In truth, they had been lucky as Childermass had been planning a visit that month and had just so happened to choose that day to make it. He had ridden up to the grand front door, perplexed but not surprised by the sight that greeted him, before proceeding to work some complex magic to remove the vice of ivy that Segundus had not quite managed to pull off despite the books at his disposal. Childermass had barely mentioned the incident afterwards, but Segundus’ cheeks still burned at the memory of his own failure.

In late October, Segundus allowed the students to travel home for a long weekend. The days were getting shorter and colder, and he was doubtful they would be able to return home again until the holidays. Snow seemed to be becoming increasingly likely as the years wore on, and Segundus had to admit that while he enjoyed the crisp air on his face and the purity of the fields blanketed in white when he awoke to a fresh snowfall, he found the inconveniences quickly outweighed the passing aesthetic appeal.  
As he waved off the final students, Segundus made a mental note to check Starecross’ stock of wood logs, thinking wistfully of the warm cup of tea he had left in his study which had surely cooled by now. He spent the rest of the afternoon making cups of tea and forgetting about them as he checked the students’ rooms for forgotten candles, cups, and coats. Not that there was much he could do if a student had left behind a much-needed winter coat or fur, but it seemed that becoming an headmaster had pushed him over the edge into those parental tendencies that had been lingering below the surface even in his youth.

The night arrived with all its penetrating darkness, and Segundus wondered how soon it would be that they would need to light candles before five in the afternoon. He ate supper alone, the usual sounds of clutter from the staff diminished as he had allowed the majority of the servants the same luxury as the students. He had only kept a few of the staff on while he stayed at the hall alone because he had discovered that his affinity with horses was effectively non-existent, and the stables were full of the richer students’ steeds, all of whom needed attending to.  
Segundus gazed out the windowpane opposite the long, empty dining table, and was struck by how sad his own portrait looked in its glass; only a few weeks earlier, he could enjoy the dappled gold and red of the autumn trees that stretched out behind Starecross, barely having the chance to absorb their beauty before his attention would be called elsewhere by another mishap. Segundus loved working at Starecross, but it was moments like these that reminded him how fleeting his happiness was; his bliss rested solely in the students’ presence, and when they left he found himself sinking quickly into morose thoughts about man’s inherent fate to be forever alone.  
Once his mind had brought him down to this melodramatic philosophical wondering, he decided a change of scene was necessary. The library at Starecross was extraordinary; certainly, it was far more extensive than one would expect of a hall of its size. Segundus gathered some of the more interesting academic papers from his desk and carried the pile over to the plush armchair Mr Honeyfoot had managed to sneak into a nook of the library. Mr Honeyfoot only worked at Starecross four days a week, and when the students were there Segundus didn’t find himself missing his mild-mannered friend. It was only on nights like these, where the loneliness seemed to creep in with the fall of darkness that he found himself wishing for a home life like Mr Honeyfoot’s.  
Nestled in the corner, Segundus set down a cup of tea he intended to finish this time and set about making his way through a particularly fascinating essay recently published regarding the symbolism of controlling different aspects of nature through magic. Just as he reached the end of the opening paragraph, a knock on the door shook Segundus out of his comfort. He placed the essay carefully to one side and hurried to the entrance hall. Whoever was travelling at this time must be in need of aid if they were knocking on his unfamiliar door.  
Segundus turned the key, a tremor running through his hands. Ever since the upsetting business with Lady Pole he had found anything out of the ordinary caused him far more worry than it ever had before. He very much hoped it wasn’t anyone dangerous. The door swung open, revealing a cloaked John Childermass.

Segundus rushed to fix Childermass something to eat and drink. The man looked no more rugged than usual, his dark hair tied back in its rogueish style, but there was something in his glinting eyes that spoke to a purpose other than a simple house call for the sake of pleasantries. When Segundus returned to the dining room with a plate of bread and cheese, he found Childermass sitting in the seat Segundus usually chose. He made no comment, placing the food in front of his friend and returning again a minute later with beer that Childermass drank down gratefully. Segundus noted that he must have travelled some way to be so thirsty. Childermass took a few grateful bites of bread and cheese before his shoulders seemed to unclench.  
“Many thanks,” He said, his voice returned to its usual timbre now that it was no longer hoarse with thirst.  
Segundus raised a hand to indicate it was no trouble, finding it difficult to find the right words when he still did not know the purpose of Childermass’ late visit, but Childermass merely nodded and continued to eat. After he had swallowed down half the bread, Segundus could stand the quiet no longer.  
“The students have returned to their families for a few days,”  
Childermass nodded, and Segundus’ eyes caught briefly on the column of throat that jutted out when he swallowed.  
“I apologise for appearing on your doorstep with no warning,” Childermass managed between bites, “You will be wondering where Vinculus is,”  
Segundus had to admit that he had entirely forgotten the existence of the Book, although he avoided voicing this aloud.  
Childermass didn’t seem to notice his self-censorship, “He is having a jolly old time in the local pub,”  
Segundus frowned, “But, sir, surely the risk is not worth it! Please, bring him here, I’m sure I can make up a room –”  
Childermass shook his head quickly, “Mr Segundus, I have no desire to retrieve Vinculus when he is quite happy where he is. No harm will come to him overnight,”  
Segundus found himself in disagreement with Childermass, but he held his tongue in favour of a different topic, “Sir, what brought you to Starecross so late in the evening? If I had known you were planning a visit I would have prepared a room –”  
“If it had been planned, I would certainly have warned you ahead of time,” Childermass interjected, “But this is a rather spontaneous visit, I must admit,”  
Childermass paused to chew through a piece of cheese and Segundus clenched his fists in his lap to avoid exclaiming in his desperation for Childermass to actually announce the reason for his impulsive visit.  
Taking another sip of beer, he continued, “I have been working on something, a bit of magic, and I had a sudden thought that you might be able to shed some light on a particularity that I have been honing for some days,”  
Segundus felt the blood rise in his face at the idea of Childermass thinking of him as a suitable magician to approach in his hour of need. A year or two ago, Childermass had begun to experiment with some of the partial magics found in some of the seminal texts. He had been attempting to piece them together to form coherent frameworks for the network of magicians that now began to flourish in Britain.  
“Sir, it is an honour that you should approach me, but I fear my knowledge is severely inferior to your own,” Segundus ventured carefully, aware that his blush was spreading to his neck.  
“Mr Segundus, I am certain you are the magician to help me in this,” Childermass finished his bread and cheese, drinking down the dregs of his beer, “Let me explain the work I have done so far,”  
He stood, making his way to the passage that led to the library. Even after so little time spent in Starecross, Childermass still seemed to know it like a child remembers their first home. Segundus remained in the chair facing Childermass’ empty one, his shock at Childermass’ faith in him as a fellow academic and magician paralysing him for a brief moment. They had engaged in debates over the minutiae of every academic paper on magic published, but that didn’t mean Childermass held any of his opinions in high regard.   
Childermass paused in the doorframe, the glint in his eyes returning as he gestured at Segundus, alone in the middle of the dining room, “That is, if it isn’t too late for some friendly academic discussion. I know you will argue with me as soon as you spy an opportunity, and I have made a bet with myself as to what you will find fault with first,”  
Segundus felt himself rise to the bait, but he found he didn’t mind, “I certainly will not, sir,” He pushed back in his chair and followed Childermass into the passage, “I’m sure you will not have repeated those silly assumptions you made about Pale’s passages on architectural magics,”

Childermass scoffed, beginning a bold statement about the assumptions Pale laid out in his earlier works, and Segundus allowed himself a small smile. The lonely picture of himself in the windowpane seemed worlds away from the warmth of this moment.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m sorry, Mr Segundus, but this is what I have found to be true!”

Segundus huffed in exasperation, “Sir, there is simply no precedent for it,”

Childermass leaned back in his chair, the warmth of the fire reflected in the glow on his face. He eyed Segundus for a moment, and Segundus struggled to stay still under such a heavy gaze. It seemed as though Childermass was trying to extract his very thoughts just by looking at him. Segundus sincerely hoped that this was not the case.

Slowly, Childermass tilted his chin to meet Segundus’ gaze, “The magic I have been studying provides that precedent,”

The air in the room stilled. It was as though Childermass had snuffed out the glow of the fire with his very words. Segundus’ heart still beat, but it was the only thing he could hear. Gone were the sounds of late-night birds, the wind in the trees, the crackle of logs in the grate. There was only Segundus’ heart beat, and Childermass’ breathing as he looked at him.

Eventually, Segundus had to break it.

“I think you’d better show me the magic, sir,”

Childermass quirked an eyebrow, “If we are to do this, Mr Segundus, I think Childermass ought to suffice,”

Segundus felt his cheeks warm, though not from his renewed awareness of the fireplace, or the room itself for that matter. Childermass’ thick eyelashes seemed to take an age to blink over his eyes, and Segundus felt trapped in the moment of Childermass’ request. He knew that he nodded, and watched with disengaged vision as Childermass turned away in search of the book that contained the magic he thought he had re-discovered, but Segundus could not clear his mind of that request, to call his friend by a preferred name. It was a privilege that Segundus would not handle without care.

“Here it is,” Childermass dug out a volume rather faded by the clutches of time.

It was a fairly mundane volume, as far as magical texts could be mundane. It was by an unknown author, describing the swathes of wood and field that took up some far-off portion of Faerie. Segundus watched with some scepticism as Childermass leafed through its pages.

Finally, Childermass thrust the volume at him, “Mr Segundus, tell me that isn’t a spell,”

Segundus took it with some hesitance.  
The binding was rough with age, but the pages were in decent condition. The ink had yellowed, but it was not indecipherable. The writing detailed a horizon lined with trees atop mountains wrapped in mist. Segundus couldn’t understand what was so fascinating about it, but with Childermass’ gaze upon him he found it difficult to look up. He continued to analyse the passage, focusing in on words he knew to have magical portents, but still he could not decipher the meaning that Childermass seemed to glean from the writing.  
Eventually, Segundus employed a different tactic, determined not to be shown up by his own rigidity. Living mostly alone, even if one did reside as a teacher, was not conducive to a reflective mindset. One often opted for sleep over self-reflection.

Segundus read the page anew, letting the words flow over and through him in the way he imagined Childermass read; like a fresh stream passing amongst clean-cut rock and sharp banks. New words flew at him, images passing through his mind like a whistle. A new idea entered his mind, but he was afraid to voice it at such a fledgeling stage.

Childermass was still gazing at him though, and he had no idea how long it had been since someone had last spoken.

“It seems, sir, that the landscape may be . . . meta in some aspect,”

Mr Segundus glanced quickly at Childermass, but his expression was unchanged.

“Go on,” Childermass said, his voice low.

Segundus pressed his lips together. He hated being asked for his opinion before he was ready to give it.

“Perhaps, and these are only initial thoughts, I haven’t given this particular passage much thought at all, it just seems to me that there is an element of metaphor for the mind occurring here,”

Segundus darted another glance at Childermass, but saw no change.

“Of course,” Segundus hurried to correct himself, “I could be wrong, I only though the descriptions of the mist, wrapped as it is around the mountains, might be some kind of projection of a kind of desire for . . . company,” He finished, his ears so hot it was painful.

Quiet followed his statement, and Segundus dearly wished he had not said a word.

Childermass cleared his throat, “That is quite remarkable, Mr Segundus,”  
Segundus cringed, sure it was patronisation.  
A corner of Childermass’ mouth quirked up, “Truly remarkable. You picked up in a few minutes what took me months to recognise,”

Childermass’ face opened up as he smiled, and Segundus struggled to comprehend the meaning of his words.

“But, sir – Mr Childermass – what magic have you uncovered from this passage? I am nowhere near such a discovery,” Segundus attempted, sure his face was pink with the unexpected praise.

Childermass leant his elbows on his knees, bent over on himself as he was in that armchair, and he began to explain the lengths to which he had experimented with this anonymous piece of work and what he believed to be its true meaning. It seemed he had been using Pale’s rudimentary understanding of architectural magics as a baseline, but to Segundus it sounded like Childermass’ most ambitious project yet.

“And I think your mind would be the best choice,” Childermass concluded.

Segundus’ heart stuttered, “I’m sorry, sir, I think I misheard – what would be the best choice?”

Childermass seemed to inhale for a longer period of time than usual before repeating himself, “I think,” He stopped himself, his face caught in an uncharacteristic mode of self-doubt, “I think your mind would be a good place to begin, to explore the boundaries of this mind-landscape, if we are to find out how this magic works,”  
Segundus thought his heart might beat out of his mouth. His breath seemed caught, trapped in his throat.

  
There was no more disastrous prospect than Childermass exploring the extremes of his mind.


End file.
